


Toasted

by ToAStranger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Steter Week, office!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's computer still isn't working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toasted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDamnRiddler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/gifts).



Inhaling slowly, Peter leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.  His desk is absurdly neat; everything in its place.  The only thing that appears wrong is the blue of his computer screen.

After a moment, he licks his lips and leans forward over his desk.  He presses the intercom button on his phone, voice sharp and shoulders rigid.

“Jennifer,” he says, not waiting for her to respond.  “Connect me to the tech department.”

“ _Of course, Mr. Hale.  I’d also like to remind you of your reservations tonight at six._ ”

“Thank you.”

There is a dial tone and then a ringing.  Slouching back into his seat again, the third tone sounds before cutting off to a young voice.

“Technologies department, this is Stiles speaking.  How can I help you today?”

“This is Peter Hale,” he replies, curt but pleasant enough.  “I’m calling in regards to my computer.  I can’t seem to get it to work.  I’ve been having problems all day, and now it’s nothing but a blue screen.”

A throat clears.  “Okay, Peter.  Don’t kill me, but I have to ask—have you tried turning it off and on again?”

Peter’s lips thin slightly, but he doesn’t correct Stiles on how to properly address him.  It’s almost refreshing.  “I have, yes.”

“Well, I’m gonna have you do it anyways.”

“Why?”

“Dude, just trust me.”

Peter falters, blinking down at the speaker.  “Alright.  Hard boot it then?”

“Yep.”

Curving down, Peter holds the power button.  For a moment, nothing happens, but then his screen flickers black.  There’s a sound like a fan turning out before it shudders and stops.  Peter sighs.

Over the phone, Stiles hisses faintly.  “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Peter agrees.  “What next?”

“Um… try and turn it back on?”

“You’re not sure?”

“I’m not sure about your computer,” Stiles clarifies.  “It sounds like it’s on its last legs—maybe even overheating.  How old is it?”

Peter huffs.  “Not sure.  I don’t handle things like that.”

“Right.  Well, try and turn it on again.”

Pressing the power button again, the fan turns over.  He smiles triumphantly when it kicks to life.

“It’s working,” he says.

“Alright, good.  Tell me what’s on the screen.”

Peter’s gaze flits over to it and he scowls.  “It’s blue again.”

“Blue?”

“Blue screen of death,” Peter confirms.

There is a pause.  Peter can hear keys striking, quick and undoubtedly efficient.  He waits. 

“What’s your ID number?” Stiles asks a moment later.

“I don’t have one.”

“ _Dude,_ ” Stiles snorts and it sounds like static over the line.  “ _Everyone_ has an ID number.  I mean, they’re a little fucking annoying, but you can’t _not_ have one.”

“I can when I own the building,” Peter says idly.

“Oh.”

Peter smiles, crooked and a bit satisfied when Stiles goes quiet.  It doesn’t last very long.

“Oh, my god.  I’m so sorry—holy shit.” Stiles says, voice pitched at a high tone.  “And I just said holy shit.  Twice.  Did I mention that I’m incredibly sorry and maybe even a bit embarrassed?”

“Only a bit?”

“Very embarrassed?”

“Might have,” Peter replies in soft amusement. 

“I am so sorry,” Stiles repeats.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” There’s static again; Stiles exhaling in relief.  “I mean—”

“Stiles, I could care less about your foul mouth.  I really just need to get my computer fixed.” Peter says.

“Um.  I can—I can pop up to the top floor and fix it manually.  Or take a look and see if I can do anything at all.”  Stiles offers.

“Good, do it.” Peter leans forward, finger hovering over the speaker button.  “You have ten minutes.”

“Right away—”

The dial tone hums, long and loud.  Peter smiles to himself.

* * *

Stiles isn’t quite what Peter expected.  He looks like a geek, shirt too big and certainly not to dress code, thick-framed glasses slipping down the slope of his nose as he comes padding through the door.  Peter knows that there must be something lithe and spry under the layers of nerd paraphernalia and plaid.  It wouldn’t be otherwise fair to not give the boy something to match that pretty mouth.

He hovers at the door for a moment, a few things in hand.  Peter stands in a smooth motion, buttoning the jacket of his suit.

“Come in,” he says.

Stiles shuffles forward, fidgeting slightly.  “Mr. Hale.  I um… again, I’m sorry—”

“I have work I need to get done, Stiles.  I’d really rather not stay much longer after hours.  There’s zero times for pleasantries.” Peter says, hands tucking into his pockets.

“Right,” Stiles rushes forward, stopping just before Peter’s desk.  “If you could just—“

Peter’s brow goes up.

“Move,” Stiles finishes.  “Out of the way.”

“Of course,” Peter steps aside, smile sharply charming.

Stiles rounds Peter’s desk and sits in the open chair with ease.  The wheels slide slightly, but he rights himself without any hardship.

Disinterested, Peter moves around the desk to the front, taking a seat in the lounger that sits centered before it.  The leather eases under him, and he leans back, arms slung along the low back edge as he crosses his legs lazily.  He watches Stiles work quietly, bites the inside of his cheek when the young man starts to mutter to himself, and Peter drums his fingers idly.

He watches Stiles work.  The younger man seems almost enamored with the project at hand, completely focused on the computer even as Peter takes his fill—gaze unabashedly admiring.  Canting his head, Peter smiles to himself as Stiles start chewing on the end of a pen.

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Peter glances that way.  “Come in.”

“Mr. Hale, it’s five thirty.” Jennifer says, peeking in.  “Do you mind—?”

“Head home,” Peter waves her off.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, sir.  Don’t forget about your reservations.  The car is waiting for you downstairs.”  She smiles, ducking back out and shutting the door with a soft click.

When Peter looks back at Stiles, he’s still clattering away at the keyboard.  Regarding him quietly, Peter licks his lips.

“Do you need to go home?” Peter asks.

“Nah, I could use the overtime.”  Stiles replies, not even glancing his way.  “Your system is _trashed_ , dude.  And your computer is toasted.”

Peter clears his throat, and Stiles looks up sharply, pulling the pen from between his lips.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Call me Peter.”

“Okay,” Stiles licks his lips, hesitating a second before focusing back on the computer screen.  “Have you _ever_ updated this thing?”

“That’s not my job,” Peter replies, fingers lacing over one knee.

Stiles shoots what he must think is a surreptitiously dry look his way.  “No, it’s mine.  And you should have called IT, like, five months ago.  You might have to replace the whole system.”

“And the hard drive?”

Stiles winces, jotting a note down onto his pad before biting down onto the pen again as he shifts to check on the console down beneath the desk top.  “Maybe?  I can probably salvage most of it.  But a great majority should be in our back up systems downstairs.”

Peter watches him, eyes lingering at his mouth.  “So you’re telling me to just get a new one?”

“Unless you want me to spend the next… two days fixing it instead of having a new one set up first thing tomorrow morning.” Stiles replies.

“Is that a hard estimation?”

“It’s a lenient estimation.”

Peter sighs.  “Get me a new one, then.”

Nodding, Stiles jots something else down before pushing to his feet.  “It’ll be delivered and set up by seven.”

“By you?”

Stiles blinks.  “If you… want?”

“I do.” Peter says, standing and tugging his jacket into place.  “In fact, come to dinner with me.”

“What?”

“It’s the least I can do,” Peter says.  “For keeping you so late.  It’s already six.”

“Isn’t that against company policy—?”

“I’m the boss, Stiles.  Nothing is against company policy.” Peter says with a smile.  “So. Dinner?”

“Um.  Yes?”

“Good.  We’ll finish this up in the morning.”

“We?”

Peter draws closer, enjoying the way Stiles fidgets but doesn’t back away.  “I’ve no doubt we’ll be coming into work together tomorrow morning.”

Stiles swallows but stands straighter, defiant.  Peter is delighted.  “What makes you think I’m that easy?”

“I don’t,” Peter says, rounding the desk, crowding into his space.  “I’m just that good.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow.  “Dinner first.  Then we’ll see.”

“Deal.” Peter hums, bending an elbow out for him.  “Shall we?”

Stiles takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Steter Week Theme: Office AU
> 
> Prompt: Peter is a ceo with computer issues. Stiles is the IT guy that stays late. (by thedamnriddler)


End file.
